


What We Had and What We Lost (and Other Redundancies)

by spareteeth



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Jack, Eventual Smut, Exes, Guilty Conscience, Jack gets bullied around by his own inner monologue, M/M, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, References to child neglect (very briefly), Tags May Change, Unsatisfying orgasm, blowjob, brief OC - Freeform, he won’t always bottom, no beta we die like men, they just really miss each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spareteeth/pseuds/spareteeth
Summary: Jack is not a good man by any stretch, and Rhys knew that going into their relationship. He wasn’t surprised when Rhys left him, although it bruised his ego pretty badly, and he threw more than one tantrum as a direct result of the whole ordeal.  But now, two months after the breakup he’s still sore about it, and it’s making life hell for everyone around him (more-so than before). Will this affect how he conducts his business? Probably. Will Jack make an ass out of himself? Almost certainly. Will Rhys forgive him when he sees how sad and lonely he is? Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves and spoil the ending just yet, yeah?





	1. Reverse Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

> This idea hit me at 3am and thank god I remembered it because I think I might actually enjoy writing this even though its more plot than porn (shocker, I know)
> 
> Special thanks to all my favorite Whores (y’all know who you are, hopefully)  
And also specifically to Fwankie for helping me figure out how to write cohesively for this chapter úwù

When Meg had told Jack that he was expected to appear at such a formal event on Pandora he didn’t even bother to stifle his laugh. Formal?  _ Pandora?  _ Right. However, just as he was about to tell Meg just how funny her joke was, he saw the look on her face. She was serious. Which made the whole situation even funnier in his opinion, but Meg was technically his only friend, and that’s only by stretching the definition a little bit, so because he didn’t want to spend the foreseeable future talking to his own reflection and him alone, he decided he would play along. In many ways Meg reminded him of Angel, and it was this reason alone that made it so hard to treat her as he would anyone else. He saw his daughter in the small quirk of her mouth when she thought he was being ridiculous, or the calm but definitely annoyed face she pulled at this very moment. Her eyebrows were raised and her burning eyes betrayed her polite demeanor. 

“It’ll be good for your public image, sir. I advise you attend,” she said curtly, placing the invitation on his desk. 

“Meg, hon, tell me how this is going to benefit me at all,” he whined at her, behaving much like an insolent child. 

She sighed deeply, frustration increasingly evident on her soft features, “Pandora is where most of our business lies, and I know it’s difficult for you to see beyond your own nose but the citizens need to think that you have their best interest at heart.”

“I do, and what’s in their best interest is that their crime-riddled, filthy, grime-filled disease orgy of a planet is ripped apart piece by piece before I even think about setting foot on it,” Jack was standing up now, hands braced against his desk as he rose to his full height, now looking down at Meg. 

She doubled down, “What’s in  _ our _ best interest,  _ hon,  _ is that they don’t mind your presence on their planet, so that just maybe they’ll want to keep buying Hyperion instead of Atlas.”

Immediately silence fell upon them like thick fog, suffocating the room, sucking the oxygen out of their lungs before they’d even had a chance to gasp for their last breath. 

Jack, torn between proud and pissed, huffed indignantly before he slammed his hands on the desk. He knew Meg only had this confidence to stand up to him because she knew he wouldn’t do anything to her, he had let her become a comfort to him, and he beat himself up for it all the time. His projection of Angel onto her made him soft. In fact, under normal circumstances, he might just wrap her up in a big ole hug and laugh this off, but bringing up Atlas allowed his anger to completely overshadow his reluctant pride of her. 

His mind was racing. What kinda shit was she trying to pull? She knew that was a weak spot, she had to know. Jack wouldn’t shut up about how much better he was without Rhys for weeks, and even now he found himself repeating that brainless mantra every now and then whenever news of Atlas made its way to him. Heat rose in his cheeks, the sting of loss and betrayal and rejection hitting him like a sharp backhand, and certainly not for the first time in the past two months since Rhys had called it quits. As much as he hated to admit it, he was still hurting, barely on the rebound. And Meg  _ knew.  _

_ She wants to hurt you. You don’t mean shit to her, Jack. She’s only nice to you sometimes because you’d shoot her if she wasn’t. Now that you finally see through her stupid fucking bullshit, show that bitch who’s boss. Ain’t that supposed to be you? Or did I get the wrong number and call a pussy by mistake? _

He stood silent for a moment more, and Meg knew then that she had crossed a line using Atlas, the back-from-the-dead company run by a backstabbing little bitch with no spine (his words), as an example. Why didn’t she say Maliwan or something? Her frame shrank as he stewed in his own anger. His light eyes were burning holes in the floor just in front of his desk and he remained entirely still. Quite suddenly he screamed, grabbing the closest object and throwing it with all of his strength at the wall in Meg’s direction. She yelped and dodged, the glass of a picture frame now littering the floor around her feet. 

_ Aww, where’d that vivacity go, kitten? Mendacious little bitch.  _

Jack turned to her, with tears burning in the corners of his eyes and mouth drawn tighter than she had ever seen and demanded she leave immediately before his aim got better. She scampered out, and though she desperately tried to fight back her sobs as she hurriedly left the room, they met Jack’s ears with painful clarity. He let out another scream, a guttural roar from the deepest parts of him. His tears flowed freely now, seeping under his mask and burning his skin. For twenty minutes he continued his rampage. 

_ Look at you, a grown ass man throwing a tantrum like a child. That’s just pathetic.  _

“Shut up!” He roared at nobody. 

_ And getting bullied by your own brain is pretty sad too, wouldn’t ya think? You really need to do some soul searching man, or you’ll burn every bridge you got.  _

Jack threw another picture frame, this time with no direction in mind. As it shattered against the cold tile, his heart dropped into his stomach. 

_ Ohoho, now you’ve done it Hot Shot. Wasn’t that the only picture of Angel you have left? Better hope it was just the frame that got destroyed this time, Johnathan.  _

Panicked, Jack fell to his knees and snatched the photo off of the ground. He sighed in relief when he saw it was still intact, and clutched it to his chest. 

“Oh, babygirl, I’m so sorry,” he kissed the photo after a moment and placed it gently on his desk. As he began to calm down, a few hiccupy sobs still caught in his throat, he looked at the destruction he had caused. 

_ No wonder Atlas left you, you’re a fucking maniac. Someone gives you the smallest reason to get pissed and you trash your own damn office. So, actually now that I think about it, that makes you a maniac  _ and  _ a dumbass.  _

“Suck my dick, inner monologue, you’re a bigger asshole than  _ me.  _ And that’s really saying something” After uprighting his chair from its cast-aside position, he slumped in it and ran his finger on the edge of the invitation sitting in front of him. 

“I should probably go, huh?”

_ It might make Meg feel better, letting her win like that.  _

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he frowned and decided he was going, in the beginning stages of convincing himself he wasn’t going for Meg’s sake, “but yeah, I guess that might make her feel better.”

As he leaned over to send Meg a message letting her know that he was going, he couldn’t stop himself from idly wondering if Rhys was going too. Which was a stupid thing to wonder because obviously he was going, apparently all the major players were, according to his inbox full of RSVP requests. Biting his lip in annoyance he did something he never did, and typed up those ugly words he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.

handsomedevil@echo.net : meg u were right :( soz cupcake

megmastrid@echo.net : I’ll get your suit ready, asshole. 

handsomedevil@echo.net : thx ur a peach xx 


	2. Bad Ideas Always Seem Great When They’ve Got Legs Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, apologies for that. Hopefully you like it anyways and I can’t wait to show y’all where I’m taking this story OuO

When one is dressed to the nines, primped and preened and tucked nicely into a charming suit, one ought to feel just about as powerful as God. That’s what good tailorship can do for a man. However, despite the raw sex appeal oozing out of Jack like pus from a decaying carcass, he couldn’t help but let a particular thorn in his side ruin his evening. Unlike all of his other thorns —and plenty of them there were— this one couldn’t be so easily plucked out. It dug deep into his ribcage, shattering bone and snagging his veins, eventually planting its roots in the cavity where one would think a heart should live. This thorn’s name was Rhys, and hell if he didn’t look amazing tonight. He always did, his body much like a well-designed gun. Sleek, sexy, and enough firepower to blow someone away. Fuck, even his stupid mustache looked good on him, much to the dismay of Jack. 

_ Why can’t my exes ever get really ugly after we call it off? _

With that pitiful thought burrowing itself into his brain he threw back another round, hoping in a drunken stupor he could get his mind off of the younger man. His plan failed, naturally, as that course of action typically does, but the buzz did alleviate the headache all the stress was causing him. 

_ Stop drinking, dickwad, I can smell bad news all over this party and you can’t make rational decisions for shit when you’re drunk. Whether or not you can do it sober is still up for debate, I’ll keep ya posted.  _

Jack pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressure distracting him from the ceaseless chattering in his head. Does he really sound like that? No wonder nobody liked him. Actually, thinking about it, that sounded like something Rhys might’ve said to him not too long ago. His inner monologue sounded more like Rhys every time it nagged at him it seemed. 

Speaking of that stupid sexy bastard, he allowed himself another —not so furtive— glance at the newly appointed CEO of Atlas in all his mustachioed glory. 

_ Fuck.  _

The eye contact was brief but painfully obvious. Jack’s delayed reaction time did not exactly do him any favors, either. He spun his head around as quickly as he could and frowned at the bottom of his empty glass, eyes wide and bleary with a muddle of emotions he was too inebriated to pick apart. He hoped that wasn’t too awkward. It definitely was, but a man can dream, right? He grumbled to himself something about being a dumbass and just as he was opening his mouth to order yet another drink to soothe away that lovely little moment he felt an all too familiar presence at his side. 

“Jack! I was starting to think I wasn’t going to see you tonight, why didn’t you come say hi?” Rhys’ dulcet voice came easily as he swayed over on his own alcohol fueled buzz, like he really didn’t know why Jack neglected to say hi. It wasn’t Rhys though, it wasn’t warm enough. He sounded artificial and cold, like an answering machine for some bullshit little company. Probably specialized in smarminess and a side focus on betrayal. Typical Atlas behavior, taking something as genuine and soft and  _ perfect _ as Rhys and totally ruining it, making him all hard and sharp edges. He was almost unrecognizable in this swanky new attitude of his. 

Turning to glare at him, Jack cocked an eyebrow and put on his typical confident facade in spite of his swimming vision, “Well babe, didn't think you’d want an old flame hanging around while you were trying to spark a new one,” he gestured to a tall, thin man with an unnervingly white smile and jet black hair that he’d noticed was eyefucking Rhys all night. Looked like Maliwan, judging from the M emblazoned on his lapel. Talk about tacky. 

Rhys made a show of gagging and rolled his eyes, “The kid’s been driving me insane. He seems to think that if he can get into my pants he can get our companies to merge. Or vice versa, he’s a weird dude.”

_ Go away go away go away go away go away— _

“So how are things back up on Helios? Busier than ever, I’d assume, you’ve got some tough new competition,” Rhys smirked as he stroked his own ego like it was a damn lapdog. 

_ Does he ever stop fucking talking? I can’t believe we fucked this guy, he’s a total windbag.  _

So that’s why he’s here. To rub it in Jack’s face. 

_ “Oh, look at me! I’m Rhys Strongfork, I’m a big boy now!” Suck my dick, kid, you’re an asshole.  _

“Things are perfectly fine, thank you very much,” Jack turned back away and flagged down the bartender, gesturing for more of whatever the hell he was drinking. Huh, he couldn’t even remember. He laughed to himself about how zany that bit was and Rhys shifted impatiently next to him. He relished in the younger man’s discomfort, and let him squirm for a minute longer. 

“What, kiddo? You waiting for your award? Some praise? Good job, pumpkin, you’re so special!” Jack said suddenly, with all of the condescending grace he could possibly muster under the influence of such copious amounts of liquor. Which was a surprising amount of condescending grace. Must just be second nature at this point. 

“I was kinda hoping we could at least be amiable—“

“Fuck off.”

Rhys’ words caught in his throat at this, more surprised than he should’ve been, quite frankly. He leaned forward to make eye contact with Jack, who avoided it like it would kill him if he looked at Rhys. Hell, it might just. 

“Jack, please. We had something really intimate and I hate the way things ended. If I’m being honest I miss you. Maybe not romantically, but your presence in my life was a pretty big one and now it’s just gone,” Rhys half-pleaded with the older man, who looked more bitter by the second. 

He clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly through his nose, trying his absolute hardest to maintain some semblance of composure, “Guess you shoulda thought about that, pumpkin.”

A moment of silence passed between the two, then another before Rhys broke the silence. 

“We were awful together, Jack.”

“I thought we were great.”

“We definitely loved each other, but we just don’t mesh like that,” Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped his eyes to the wooden bar with a heaviness only regret can bring. 

Jack hummed thoughtfully, not knowing himself if he was agreeing or not. They were definitely a spirited couple, and not always in a good way. He remembered shattered glass and screaming matches and holes in the drywall. Jack remembered how it felt when Rhys told him he’d had enough, that he couldn’t live like this anymore. It was like being gutted and displayed for the public to watch as he bled out at first, humiliating and hollowing and painful. Then it felt like drowning, sinking without hope of ever seeing land again, lungs burning as the oxygen staled and muscles aching as his thrashing against the waves proved futile. But he also remembered lazy mornings when the sun crept in and illuminated Rhys’ sleeping face, and how Rhys always slept with his head on Jack’s stomach, even after they’d fought. Jack remembered how he tasted when they’d first kissed in that conference hall before their meeting and how every time he looked at Rhys for the rest of the day he’d flush and avert his gaze.

They sat in silence once more, this one a bit more tolerable, almost comfortable. It felt foreign and nostalgic and odd all at once, but they could stand it. 

“The sex was ridiculous,” Rhys sighed, eyeing Jack for his reaction. 

“Can’t say I disagree with you, cupcake, you were insane in bed,” Jack huffed out a laugh and set down his refilled drink, eyeing Rhys in return. 

They made eye contact again, and they felt an old ember beginning to smolder despite it’s previous dousing. 

_ Jack, no! Bad idea— _

“You know, we don’t have to be  _ romantically  _ involved to relive some of that ‘ridiculous’ sex,” Jack leaned in closer, suggestion dripping off of every syllable. 

“Precisely what I was just thinking,” Rhys leaned in as well, exchanging breath with Jack in a way that felt too natural to him. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

“Do I ever.”


	3. Just Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. baby, let’s fuck to mask how much we miss having each other around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning the end might be a little bit uhhh unsatisfying teehee

How they’d managed to stumble out of the bar without falling on their asses was a mystery, both men drunk and tangled up in each other’s arms. In their pursuit of the nearest unoccupied room, they’d tripped over each other more times than they could count, or would even remember the next day, giggling like children between sloppy kisses. Jack had forgotten how touchy Rhys was, and his dick twitched in approval every time his hands grabbed at his ass or ran through his greying hair. As he fumbled with the door handle of some random office they’d come upon, he felt the younger man (and the evidence of his excitement for the night ahead) pressed up against him. 

“Eager are we?” Jack snickered and arched lightly, grinding back into Rhys’ crotch, earning a soft noise in response. 

Rhys’ breath hot on his neck, a whispered, “I’m going to fuck your brains out,” was all he heard before the door was flung open and he was pushed into the room and against the (thankfully empty) desk that occupied it. His chest hit the wood and he forgot how to breathe for a moment, but before he could complain Rhys’ hand was in his hair again and pulled him back, flush to his chest. 

_ Jesus christ, I remember why we liked him now. _

Jack whimpered as Rhys tugged his pants down roughly, his erection now pressing into the cold, smooth desk under him. Rhys began leaving open mouthed kisses across his shoulders and neck as he procured a small bottle of lube. 

_ He just has that on him all the time? He must be drowning in ass. Guess he doesn’t miss you all that much.  _

Ignoring his intrusive inner monologue, he whined as the younger man pressed a slick finger into him without so much as a warning and began working him open at an agonizingly slow pace. Little moans caught in his throat and he let his eyes flutter closed, nearly going limp at the sensation, only heightened by the alcohol in his system. 

They stayed like this for awhile, Rhys slowly prepping Jack, adding fingers when needed and Jack rocking slightly back into his touch. It was intimate in the most obscene sense, the sickening squelch of Rhys’s actions mixing with the sweet sounds Jack made. It was far too familiar, how they moved against each other, how comfortable they were with wordless pleasure. Why would you need words when you already know what is to be said? Rhys could probably write out a near perfect map of every scar and freckle on Jack’s body, not including the one he’d gotten after their separation, a bullet hole near his hip. How many times had they ended the night like this? Jack’s facade of dominance melting away the second he trusted you enough to take care of him. 

Rhys’ eyes were misty and he chuckled sadly at how easily Jack still trusted him after he’d basically abandoned him. Jack, oblivious, began to grow impatient, wriggling under the other’s ministrations and searching for more. His breath was coming short, the direct stimulation to his prostate getting to him more than he’d like to admit. Untouched, his dick was a furious red and leaking onto the desk. 

_ God, you’re already close? That’s a little pathetic, dude.  _

Jack whined louder, drowning out his unpleasant thoughts and egging Rhys on to give him anything as long as it was more than this. He felt like he was very nearly to his release but he just couldn’t get there from here. 

“Rhys,  _ fuck _ , please I…” his sentence trailed off into a cry of shock and pleasure when he felt a cold, metal hand wrapping around his cock and pumping gently. The little bit of added friction was delicious, sending waves of pleasure through every nerve in his body. 

“God kitten, that’s what I’m fuckin talking about,” he grinned lasciviously and turned his body to get a look at Rhys. This new angle made every stroke hit him just that much harder, and his brows knit together furiously as he moved to grab Rhys by the hair. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The other man just knew exactly what buttons to press to bring him to his knees, literally and metaphorically, and it wasn’t lost on Jack how much he missed his touch. After many a stressful day at work he’d find his mind wandering to the nights they’d shared just like this. He tried like hell to replicate how good Rhys made him feel but it was practically impossible on his own, and he couldn’t help but compare every one night stand to his ex. 

_ I miss him.  _

Jack was entirely overcome by his orgasm, body seizing and shaking as Rhys helped him ride it out, the feeling of being consumed by flames and embracing the heat that encompassed him. He knew he probably looked a mess right now, trembling and flushed and twisted towards the other man. He pulled Rhys into a sloppy kiss, moaning loudly into his mouth as his hips stuttered against mismatched hands and he came into Rhys’ hand. The stark contrast of the translucent white dripping down the bold, patterned red was painfully foreign, the familiar solid yellow long gone. With bitterness staining his climax at the remembrance of Rhys leaving he sighed heavily, chest heaving in afterglow. 

Jack let his body, still recovering from climax, be maneuvered around, so that he was lying on his back on the desk, ankles thrown over shoulders that were broader than he remembered. At some point Rhys had undone his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt, suit jacket missing entirely. 

_ Someone’s been working out.  _

Now this wasn’t to say he was ripped or anything, but he’d definitely lost his softer edges in recent months and Jack silently mourned the loss of the little tummy he had going on when they were together. It was a deep comfort to him on nights the pain—physical or otherwise—was too much to nestle his face into Rhys’ stomach, arms tucked between the two to keep them from trembling. He looked good though, and Jack’s mouth watered at the sight of the hair dusting his stomach, thinner by the navel and thickening as it drew nearer to what Jack really wanted out of all of this. 

“Let’s get you out of that, shall we?” Rhys spoke in low, dulcet tones that made Jack’s stomach flip, indicating the unfortunate amount of layers the older man had on. They made quick work of his jacket. And the vest. And the tie. The dress shirt took a bit longer, far too expensive to just rip off —although the thought of that was rather appealing. The undershirt was easier, and was gone in a flash. It wasn’t long before hands were roaming his body, the contrasting temperatures of flesh and metal giving Jack goosebumps, not knowing if he should flinch away or lean into the touches. Rhys’ fingers and Jack’s breath both caught slightly at some of the more raised and recent scars adorning Jack’s torso as he explored the familiar landscape that his broad chest. 

Wordlessly, for fear of saying the wrong thing, Rhys lined himself up with Jack’s hole and slowly pushed in. The older man’s head fall back as he groaned in approval, sending a chill down Rhys’ back as he suppressed his own groan. From there it was all pretty much the typical situation, although neither of them could fully lose themselves in the sensations. It was too real. It was them, together again, but not in the way either of the two wanted. Every stroke felt like heaven and hell were ripping at their seams. For every sigh and moan along came a wave of melancholy and sorrow. They finished together after rutting against each other for a while in the sweetest pain anyone could feel.

Jack felt hollow as he dressed himself, Rhys walking out the door without so much as an acknowledgement of the mistake they had both made. He stayed in that room for awhile, staring at the wall from his new position in the desk chair of some poor asshole who’d have to clean up after them in the morning. He slid his shoes back on and made his way to the shuttle that would take him home. 

_ Oh God, you’re not crying are you? _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it’s pretty short, and i’m NOT sorry that Jack’s a bottom.


	4. Bittersweet is a Shitty Flavor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not too sure how well I managed to convey what I was trying to but ya know what this is all for fun anyways if it sucks then sorry teehee I hope you enjoy it regardless of my inability to express emotions (haha isn’t that topically relevant)

Rhys didn’t stick around too long after his little escapade with Jack, partly because he was sweaty and tired from exertion but mostly because he couldn’t chase down the taste of a bad decision with any liquor they served here. He spent the trip back to Promethea beating himself up for being such an idiot. 

_ I really couldn’t just wait until I got home and jack off could I? Couldn’t have picked literally anyone else? Even that little Maliwan prick would have been better.  _ His hands shook as he accepted another drink, handed to him by a PA who cared too much about him. 

“Sir, is everything alright? You had me scared a little there, just disappearing and showing up all disheveled like that,” he frowned as he sat down next to Rhys, hand on his boss’ knee, a gesture that made the CEO flinch despite its warm intentions. The hand withdrew slightly and Rhys pulled it back to its position on his knee. A little comforting from a good-looking young man couldn’t hurt, right?

They’d been flirting back and forth since he and Jack called it quits, and quite honestly it had been the ego boost he’d been needing after the 24/7 attention he’d been getting had gotten cut off so suddenly. The furtive glances during meetings and lingering touches had increased in the week leading up to tonight. Rhys had been practically giddy with the excitement of it all before now, but as he turned to the younger man he couldn’t help but feel like he was being unfaithful. He gently swatted the other man’s hand away, changing his mind, and tried to pretend he didn’t see the look of hurt confusion flash across his assistant’s face. 

“I’m fine, just feeling sick is all,” he lied through his teeth. The assistant pursed his lips and nodded curtly, trying to take the subtle rejection in stride. As he stood up to leave, Rhys grabbed his wrist without thinking. 

“Sir, did you need something?” his face was more confusion that hurt now, soft features twisted ever so slightly. 

“Yeah, uh, some relief,” Rhys winced at his word choice, but he was kinda winging it it here and he was drunk off his ass, so he didn’t bother to rephrase it. A guilty sort of heat pooled in his stomach as he watched the other man’s face light up immediately. Rhys had already gotten off tonight, sure, but his assistant didn’t know that. 

“What do you mean, sir?” he said with a smile that said he already knew the answer, playing innocent for the sake of building tension. It made Rhys feel wrong, knowing this kid was actually into him and was just going to end up hurt after this, but his dick twitched in interest at the look in his eyes. 

“Get on your knees, Michael,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath. With sick contentment he watched as Michael positioned himself between his boss’ knees, his hands twisting together nervously. 

“Well? What are you just sitting there for, sweetheart? My dick isn’t gonna suck itself,” he cringed inwardly once again at his own words, the memory of Jack’s short residence in his head rising to the top of his brain, but the look on Michael’s face was pretty enough to make him get over it. The PA made quick work of shoving Rhys’ belt and pants down around his ankles, but left his briefs on to tease the older man to full arousal. Rhys inhaled sharply as he felt a mouth moving over his clothed bulge and moved his hand to tug on the other’s hair, silently telling him that teasing wasn’t going to get him anywhere he wanted to be. He pulled the kid off of him briefly as he hooked his thumb into his own waistband and freed his erection, flushed red and dripping precome. 

_ Damn? Already? Weird.  _

His moment of insecurity was fleeting, Michael’s mouth quickly finding its way around the head of Rhys’ cock, sucking lightly and working the slit with his tongue. Rhys groaned softly and rocked his hips into the warm pressure, letting his head fall back as more and more of his dick disappeared inside that pretty little mouth. 

“Shit, Mikey, that’s fucking perfect,” he breathed, hand fisting the other’s hair as the pace picked up. Well, “perfect” really wasn’t quite the right word. The technique was definitely there, don’t get him wrong, but it was too practiced and felt inauthentic. There was no passion, or choking, or sloppy kisses to the underside of his shaft, or even light grazes of teeth that made him hiss as he was caught in between pain and pleasure. It wasn’t Jack. In all his imperfections, giving mediocre (at best) head being one of them, there was a charm about his, err,  _ work ethic _ . Rhys found himself missing him again and a spark of rage ignited in his chest. Without warning he grabbed handfuls of the man’s hair and began thrusting hard, breath hitching at the sound and feel of gagging around his dick. Michael’s eyes were blown wide open, tears spilling over onto bright red cheeks. The PA, after the initial shock, let his head and neck go limp so Rhys could fully push him around as he pleased. He moaned loudly with his mouth full, the vibrations bringing Rhys crashing over the edge. 

Once again he had found his climax to be tarnished by his stupid emotions, and he felt incredibly numb as he helped Michael get off out of sheer obligation. Using his flesh hand for pretty obvious reasons, he didn’t really try to find that spot that’d make the poor thing seize up in pleasure, and if he had done so it was out of mere coincidence. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jack the whole time, imagining the way he cocked his hips back to meet every stroke and the funny little gibberish he let out when he was close. He closed his eyes and pretended the neck he pressed his lips to was tanned and scarred from years of having to fight for a position at the top of the food chain. The apex predator he had come to love had ruined him, made every sexual venture post-Jack into just something he did when he was bored as opposed to the rush he was looking for. His taste was stained on Rhys’ tongue, like bad wine you couldn’t spit out. 

It took an agonizingly long time, but when Michael did come, he didn’t seem all that impressed and stalked off awkwardly after the fact, no doubt disappointed that their weeks of heavy flirting had led to a just sorta alright ending. Rhys felt a little guilty about it, and he was still sore that he’d come twice in one night and neither of his climaxes were any good. Right when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse he got a ping on his ECHO, alerting him that a certain Hyperion CEO was texting him. 

_ Jesus fucking Christ, Jack what the fuck could you possibly want from me right now?  _

He mulled over the idea of simply not opening the text, but decided against it, remembering Jack’s mean streak was especially violent even without the influence of alcohol. He opened up his palm display and winced at the blue text crawling across the interface. 

_ Jackass:  _ we need 2 talk asap

He rolled his eyes at the obnoxious grammar and typed back (more aggressively than necessary.) 

_ Me:  _ About what?

_ Jackass:  _ well shit guess ur just gonna have to come over n find out lmao

His heart dropped into his stomach at the implication of visiting Jack on his home turf. Not only did he have his own personal reasons to avoid that nightmare scenario, he had a business to run, and he couldn’t run it from the cold emptiness of space when Jack finally airlocked him. 

_ Me:  _ No way, dickhead. I’m not that stupid. 

The “typing” symbol appeared and disappeared a few times, Jack seeming unlike his typical cocksure self. Usually he’d just jump into things with the confidence of a daredevil who didn’t really care if he died or not so long as he got the hit of adrenaline at the end of it all, but now he seemed more like a novice stuntman presented with a task he was far under qualified for. For a moment, Rhys almost thought Jack had given up, but when the “call incoming” symbol lit up in his peripheral he cursed himself for not knowing better. Handsome Jack doesn’t give up. 

He sighed and accepted the call, much wanting just to get the whole ordeal done and over with. What he was expecting to see was a stupidly sexy shit-eating grin and a wild look in those mismatched eyes, which he did technically see. The part he wasn’t expecting, however, was the obvious signs of crying. And not pretty crying either, his eyes were bloodshot and his water lines were stained red, eyelashes still wet with tears. Rhys hated how he noticed how striking his light eyes were against such a raw color, but he more so hated that he felt like wrapping the lunatic up in a tight hug and kissing away his tears. He shook the thought out of his brain and prayed it landed somewhere miles away. 

“Hey doll, thought I’d check up on ya,” Jack’s voice quavered like he was teetering on the precipice of breaking down, and again Rhys felt his heart pang with empathy and felt as though they were on that edge together, clinging to each other as if they wouldn’t survive if they let go. Rhys debated calling him out on his bullshit macho act but after his actions tonight he figured he’d been doing worse. The guilt of using Michael washed over him again and he bit his lip to avoid frowning. 

“Now why would you do a silly thing like that, Jack? Getting attached again, are we?” Rhys refused to baby him, and in fact going out of his way to play nice seemed way harder than being a bitch at the moment. 

_ If Jack wants to play pretend, we can play pretend.  _

Jack’s grin (if you could call it that) faltered for a second too long, and he knew himself that it had been obvious and sighed deeply, dropping his act like it had bit him. 

“Look, Rhys, I’m just gonna say it outright so I can’t back out,” he began, eyes glistening with the threat of outwardly expressing his emotions for once, “I miss you, and I think I might love you.” He choked on that last bit, his extreme discomfort painfully obvious. 

The Atlas CEO clenched his jaw, eyebrows drawing together tightly in frustration and anger and confusion. Jack hadn’t said that and meant it the entire time they were together, why would it be any different now? What had changed? Did Jack finally realize how fucking realize that he lost the best boyfriend ever? Rhys suspected he was only saying it now because his emotional articulation was so fucked up he didn’t even realize until tonight. 

_ Dumbass.  _

His silence set Jack on edge, the older man fidgeting and worrying his lip, eyes searching Rhys for any sign of an actual response. Quickly slipping into defense mode, he rasped a desperate chuckle, although he didn’t find the situation very amusing at all. 

“Okay, fuck you too, then,” a tear slipped out and his face began to screw up, “You fucking bitch, you don’t like it when I’m not all mushy gushy and tell you how I feel but I finally run my trap and you can’t even say anything?” Rhys’ opened and closed his mouth, brain struggling to keep up with how quickly Jack’s fuse was coming to its end, how near the danger of his inevitable explosion was. The sound of shouting rang in his head, amplified by the fact that the device was implanted there. He let Jack scream for a bit, let himself wallow in the hurt and anger and fear he was being drowned in. It was as if all the emotions Jack had been repressing for nearly 50 years had all burst through at once, and Rhys willed himself to remain calm and allowed the older man to get it out. 

His emotional constipation had been one of Rhys’ biggest complaints after all, so he figured that if he shut him up that’d make it seem like he was wrong and that was one argument he refused to lose. And if it felt like the punishment he deserved for being such a mess that was an aside that could be dealt with at a later time. 

He watched the little hologram with bated breath as Jack yelled at the top of his lungs, audio quality declining from the abuse of Jack’s mic. He was starting to become practically unintelligible, tears streaming down his face now, choking on words and his own pride. Suddenly it was quiet, and Rhys broke from his deer-in-headlights state to hear the smallest rasp of “I love you.”

Before Rhys could even draw a breath to respond the call ended and he was left to drown in the tsunami Jack’s tirade had borne. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god pwease give me criticism I need it desperately


	5. Man Tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MANY APOLOGIES!! These last six months have been some of my worst mental health wise, and I haven’t had the chance to work on this until now. Here’s a short little one-scene chapter as a sort of appetizer lmao. Here’s to hoping my writing and time management skills improve!

Jack’s skin felt cold, clammy as death, apart from where the hot tears seemed to scorch his skin, scarring him over again. He had shirked the mask nearly half an hour ago now, been screaming his lungs out for at least three times as long. His knuckles were cut and bloodied from the many unassuming inanimate objects he had destroyed, one among them being a stupid novelty mug Rhys had gotten him as a gag gift. Seeing it in shatters was  _ not  _ as cathartic as Jack was hoping it’d be, especially when he knew the real gift was still safe in his desk, a beautiful, dark wooden frame (hard to find these days) encasing a picture of the happy couple, faces pressed against each other and smiles so wide their eyes were practically closed. But he couldn’t bring himself to break that one. 

He now sat in his chair, chest heaving as he held that damn picture frame in his hands, tracing the intricate details carved into the siding. His throat stung with exertion and he choked out a few more tired sobs before putting the photo back in it’s drawer. 

He stalked over to the window, unsure of himself now that the air was calm and silent around him. His forearm rested against the cool glass and his other hand found its way to his hip, eyes closed as he exhaled deeply. The light of surrounding stars were the only thing illuminating his face, as serene as it's ever been, as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum. He slowly opened his eyes and stared into the vacancy of space that lay before him, nothing but his own breathing to remind him that he was still living and not succumbing to that inky void just outside his window. The man remained there in silence for however long before a buzzing sound shook him back to real life. He turned to see his ECHO lighting up from where he’d left it on the desk, and he groaned to nobody as he made his way across the trashed room. 

“Rhys?”

Impossibly, more tears brimmed at his mismatched eyes and he had to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. 

“Hey, Jack,” a sigh of uncertainty crackled through the (frankly shitty) speakers of the ECHO, “Are you okay?”

Rhys’ voice was saturated with worry, which made Jack almost want to laugh. He’d just blown up on the guy and now he was checking up on him, like some sort of puppy that came back no matter how many times you punched it. 

“Well, uh, yeah of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” Jack huffed in his typical fashion, although he wasn’t very convincing apparently because he was met with a small hum of disapproval, followed by expectant silence. He turned on the visuals so he could confirm that Rhys was wearing that stupid, impatient look on his stupid, sexy face. At first he was right, but it changed quickly without warning. Rhys’ mouth had slightly fallen open and his eyebrows had somehow knit even tighter in concern. 

The realization hit Jack like a biofuel rig, and his heart sank into his stomach when he figured out what had Rhys so stunned. They sat there in tense silence for a moment or two, Jack unsure of where to go from here. Luckily, Rhys knew exactly what to say to fix this situation. 

“Your face, it’s… I can, uh, see it.”

Jack couldn’t help but cough out a dry laugh, even though his blood pressure was through the roof, because Rhys was just so perfectly awkward. Now, he was stuttering over his apologies as he realized how fucking rude it was to just point out something like that. 

Over his own laughter he heard a meek, “Do you wanna talk about it?” which sent him into an even larger fit of laughter. Jack was doubled over in his seat and Rhys’ face was bright red. 

“I already expressed some emotions today, I’m good for another 50 years ya know,” Jack cocked a brow. 

Rhys’ trademark pursed lip made a brief appearance before his gaze went soft, clearly taking in Jack’s exposed features. The older man fidgeted in his seat and was close to screaming again so he’d have an excuse to stop whatever the hell this was. His face was hot and anxiety was eating away at his chest from the inside, like acid corroding his lungs. 

Breaking the silence again, Rhys spoke gently, “For what it’s worth, I think the scar’s kinda sexy.”

“I hate you, cupcake,” Jack managed, good natured despite the nerves evident in his shaking voice. 

“I love you too, and we  _ will _ talk about this when you aren’t recovering from one of your tantrums,” Rhys cocked his eyebrow knowingly and hung up, leaving Jack to stew in those three little words. 

_ God, we are fucked the fuck up _ .

Despite his better sense, Jack felt a bloom of excitement in his chest at the reciprocation of his feelings. Maybe he should always just be outright about his emotions from now on, and use this experience as a learning moment, maybe even grow a little. 

But probably not. 


End file.
